


A Story About Him

by KitsuneTails25



Category: Undertale (Video Game), Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Canon Temporary Character Death, Gen, In the structure of A Story About You
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-16
Updated: 2019-09-16
Packaged: 2020-10-19 13:08:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,327
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20657759
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitsuneTails25/pseuds/KitsuneTails25
Summary: This is a story about Him, said the man in the radio. And you were pleased, because now the truth will finally be revealed on the radio. Welcome, to Night Vale.





	A Story About Him

This is a story about Him, said the man in the radio. And you were pleased, because now the truth will finally be revealed on the radio. Welcome, to Night Vale.

[Intro music plays]

This is a story about him. He lived with the Dreemurr couple in a quaint house underground. This is not, a cave-like place like you would expect from a place under the ground, all stalagmites and stalactites, and uneven walls of rocks and crystals. In fact, it was quite square and noticeably human-made. Or monster-made. Like the human-made underground safety bunkers we all have in our homes that give us the illusion of safety.

He had a mother, who cooked snails into pies, and a father, who liked to water flowers. The mother is a queen, and she liked to go bug-hunting and read books. The king, his father, is kind and takes care of his people.

But this is not a story about them. So your focus isn't on them.

One day, on the way to pick up flowers, he heard a sound like a fall from a great height. He was concerned, it might be another monster child trying to climb the columns again. The kids sometimes liked to dare each other on who can climb the fastest, and he, himself, was a participant at times. Most times he patched the others up.

A prince takes care of his own, he learned that from the king.

But when he came upon the cavern where the hole to the surface opened up, it was not a dazed monster child being bathed in the golden beams. It was a creature, unlike anything he had seen before. But he had heard, oh, he had heard his parents' stories. It, was a human... They were injured.

"Oh! You have fallen down, haven't you?" He asked, "Are you okay? Here, get up...."

They said something quiet, pained. Weak.

"Chara, huh? That's a nice name!"

He gave his own name in turn, and in them, the human, he had found a friend. And then a sibling. And then a conspirator.

Chara was ambitious and bitter. And loving. They loved the monsters so much that it moved him. Their eyes gleamed with passion and righteous anger. And oh, the anger burned. It burned through everything in its path, it burned even the human themself. Because upon seeing how the monsters lived trapped by the humans, Chara made a plan. A great sacrifice on their part, but would spell the freedom of their beloved family under the mountain.

He grieved. He cried. He begged to take it back. But the human was still sick, still dying. And they faded in a whisper of breath and a scent of blood.

(At the corner of his eye he thought he saw something. Something dark. Distant.)

He and them became one. His body, their souls, together. The human had one wish in their death, so the prince honored their wish and, with his, their, new power, took them to the surface and the golden flowers. Through the barrier that enveloped his home, trapping, smothering his people. He went through it with the wish of coming back and finally destroying the thing that stole his people's freedom, and stole his sibling's life.

The child was so very small in his arms. So frail. So empty.

But the child was still there with him, beside him, inside him, and they wanted vengeance. They wanted the humans to burn, too. But he said, no. No more of anyone dying, please, he does not want to kill.

He refused.

As he laid in the floor of his father's throne room, surrounded by his parents' anguished cries, he thought he saw something in his dimming vision. The apparition was there, again. It was... huge. Just above him, it was...like a dark planet, lit by no sun. It was so close now, no longer distant. As if he could just...reach up a hand, and...

[...]

One day, a flower woke up. One day, a king was summoned to the throne room by the familiar sobs of the distraught. One day, a connection failed to form. And the flower fled.

This is still a story about him. It had started as such, as it had continued to be, and it will continue to be about him. You do not worry. This is, after all, a familiar story.

A story, about him.

He found himself with her, his mother. She was in their old home now, the Ruins, after she had left the King in his quest for revenge and war. When he revealed himself to her she cried, she took care of him, she stroked his petals and watered his roots. But she failed to form that connection within him, and so he fled again.

For the first time in his life, he had to survive on his own. He learned quickly, but a flower was still fragile thing.

He looked up, and above him he saw it.

A dark planet, lit by no sun. An invisible titan, all jagged mountains and deep, turbulent oceans. It spun soundlessly above him, so incomprehensibly huge, it took over everything in his vision. It was so close. If he can just, reach up...he can touch it...

But he did not.

His refusal was so strong, so complete, the world, his whole reality, twisted.

And he was back. Back in that garden where he first opened his eyes.

He lived nowhere. He lived everywhere. He made friends with everyone. He made friends with no one. He played and played and played, the world was his playground and he is the child to whom it was gifted to. Creeping vines figuratively and literally wrapped in everyone's being as he laughed.

He was amused.

He was entertained.

He was bored.

He was lonely.

The flower missed the human terribly. He believed that Chara is the only one who can make him feel that connection again. That bond of love and caring between family, given and returned, shared unconditionally. He felt so empty now.

He lacked a soul now.

For years he lived. And lived again. And again. There was no sky in the underground, but in Waterfall the stones twinkled like stars. It made him long for them. They used to tell him stories about the surface and he liked to listen. They told him about the buildings, the food, the flowers, the sky... He can almost imagine it.

He can almost imagine...

The weather.

[Weather: Evelyn Evelyn, by Jason Webley and Amanda Palmer]

One day, another human arrived with a sound like a fall from a great height. They were not injured.

This time, their fall was cushioned by a thick carpet of golden flowers.

He attacked them. Only one more soul was needed, and he can break the barrier. He will finally finish what he and his sibling started, and the world will burn in his rage for what it took from him. But the queen saved the child and took them in. She cooked them pie, let them sleep in his old bed, tried to make them stay.

In them, the human, he found a thief. The world ceased to be his playground, snatched away by another pair of childish hands. The queen had found another child to care for, and this time the child can care back. In them he found an enemy, and in them he faced defeat.

Then the world reset, and in them he found a conspirator.

Chara was back. He had his dear sibling back. The flower was finally happy, and he swore that together they will burn everything in their way. He followed them around, helping them in little things so their journey is easier and their hunting thorough.

He never expected to be burned, too.

He did not expect those merciless hands to make him quake in fear. He did not expect to face his end under the knife of his dear friend.

You pursed your lips, just as the man in the radio said you pursed your lips. Despite the heavy feeling in your chest, you continued to listen.

You already know how this ends.

We go back to the beginning. No, not that. The other one.

He did not know how, he thought the world had ended. But again the human was there, and again he followed. Subtly. Secretly. Or as subtly as he can. He can almost swear he was spotted a few times.

(Yes, actually, he was spotted. The human was just too nice to mention it...until now.)

The human was his enemy now. He found it distasteful, deplorable, that they could swing that knife and then turn around to make friends with their former victims. He knew he was being hypocritical, but he was bitter that the human would judge him for something they themself also did. The flower will take his playground back, and then he can fix everything.

So he stole the six human souls and he stole the souls of the whole Underground. He felt so powerful, so free. In his glee he defeated the human, he tortured them. He planned to reset reality to the very beginning, back to the real beginning, when Chara was his sibling and they were happy. He and Chara can play together again.

But the human called a name, their name. Chara's name. And his soul pulsed. Something in him seemed to awaken, and images pierced through the overwhelming bloodthirsty joy like a a sudden noise through an awkward silence.

He remembered, suddenly. Tears slipped from his eyes, suddenly. His breath shuddered. His heart ached. It ached.

He felt a connection again, no longer was it a mere ghost of what he once had. It was so strong, so intense it was painful and wonderous and all other manner of similar adjectives. He felt grief, and he felt compassion.

The former boy, the former flower, now the magic from the amalgamation of souls that he used to make up his form, broke the barrier. The souls was brought back to life, memories of their extraction gone but with the knowledge deep in their being that something had happened.

The human that fell was familiar. But was ultimately not Chara. He can see that now. They were never Chara, all this time.

"Um... What..." He started haltingly, "What is your name?"

Their answer was quiet, warm. Slightly sad.

"... Frisk? That's...a nice name."

The boy, the potent mix of magic from a variety of souls, now a shell of what he once had been, urged them to go. Go home. He will become a flower again soon enough, leave him.

They went.

But they kept coming back. They brought pie, and books, and movies, and stories. They told him about a little town they found. This town. How the citizens reacted by pointing and shouting "Interloper!" but meant it as a friendly greeting by their local tradition. They spoke about the five-headed dragon who ran for mayor, the hooded figures in the dog park, the Scouts that they neglected to join because they didn't want to decide between Boy Scouts and Girl Scouts, the angels that does not exist but lived with an old lady, the smooth-voiced radio host that seemed to know of things he should not know. They brought him little slices of life along with slices of invisible butterscotch-cinnamon pie.

They told him about the home they made there. And he liked to listen.

In the last visit that Frisk made, he went with them.

He lives in Night Vale now, with the Dreemurr family. Or rather, former Dreemurr. He shares an apartment with the former queen Toriel and the equally no-last-name (and also ungendered,) child, Frisk. He often visited the former king of monsters, Asgore Dreemurr, and got to know many citizens in town. He let the group of scientists that Alphys joined study him for a bit and answered questions. He polished his fighting skills against Undyne, Papyrus, and whatever creature, slash entity-from-the-endless-void, slash dangers-from-a-spontaneously-appearing-portal, slash Librarians, that is currently attacking Night Vale that week. He learned to protect, and the town learned to love him and his people.

He no longer sees that dark planet in the sky. It no longer hung above him with its thick black forests, jagged mountains, and deep, turbulent oceans.

He is...content.

Now, he sits in a small pot, listening to the radio next to you. You give him an encouraging smile, and he answers it weakly. Both of you are waiting.

This has been his story.

The radio moves onto other things – news, traffic, political opinions, and corrections to political opinions. But there was time, one day, one single day, in which it was only one story. A story, about him. And he was resigned, and nervous, because he had known that he would hear about himself on the radio. Goodnight, Night Vale. Goodnight.

[Outro music plays]

Welcome to Night Vale is a production of Night Vale Presents. It is written by Joseph Fink and Jeffrey Cranor, and produced by Disparition. The voice of Night Vale is Cecil Baldwin. Original music by Disparition. All of it can be found at disparition.info or at disparition.bandcamp.com. This episode's weather was Evelyn Evelyn, by Jason Webley and Amanda Palmer. Find out more at evelynevelyn.com. Comments, questions, email us at info at welcometonightvale.com, or follow us on twitter, at Night Vale Radio. Or, hide in a box, in a bigger box, inside a more giant box, that is inside of another huge box, that is also inside a bigger box, with everything filled with cotton, and soundlessly scream for a help that will never come.

Today's proverb: Curiosity is the one who killed the cat. Now it prowls with its many jointed limbs just outside the peripherals of your vision, growling, glaring. It is waiting.

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: The "You" here isn't YOU you or even the "You" in A Story About You (because that one died a [REDACTED]).
> 
> The "You" here is Frisk. Frisk and Flowey talked to each other, and after enough time passed and Flowey felt ready, they went to Cecil and requested for him to broadcast this. At the end of the broadcast, they waited next to the radio, and then Toriel came bursting in with tears in her eyes. (She was listening to the radio while in another part of town). And then Asgore, and everyone else.
> 
> This is my first WtNV fic, I hope I adequately captured Cecil's voice enough here...


End file.
